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I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Real
Believe
Anymore
Knowing
Hate

More quotes by Jay Asher

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If time was a string connecting all of your stories, that party would be the point where everything knots up. And that knot keeps growing and growing, getting more and more tangled, dragging the rest of your stories into it.
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God, I am freaking out. Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe I just look guilty of something and he’s picking up on that.
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Everything...affects everything
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You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.
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And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home... I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally... I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
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Because I've heard so many stories that I don't know which one is the most popular. But I do know which is the least popular. The truth.
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I’m sorry.” Once again, those were the words. And now, anytime someone says I’m sorry, I’m going to think of her.
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Teens in the '90s had the same basic desires as they do now.
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My breathing begins to slow. The tension in my muscles starts to relax. Then, a click in the headphones. A slow breath of air. I open my eyes to bright moonlight. And Hannah, with warmth. Thank you.
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The longer you wait, and this is true, the slower the hands will move.
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I left. When I should have stayed.
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What the hell happened to Pluto?!
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And at some point, the struggle becomes too much-too tiring-and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.
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A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.
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That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.
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That's what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you're not sure what the poet's talking about. You may have an idea, but you can't be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.
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You can't go back to how things were. How you thought they were. All you really have is...now.
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Did the poet use red to symbolize blood? Anger? Lust? Or is the wheelbarrow simply red because red sounded better than black?
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It's nothing. A school project. My go-to answer for anything. Staying out late? School project. Need extra money? School project.
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How many times had I let myself connect with someone only to have it thrown back in my face?
Jay Asher